


Mouth to Mouth, Bones to Bones

by larkscape



Series: Tell Me How to Break This Fever [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bottom Otabek Altin, First Time, Getting Together, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Otabek has a bit of a, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Music Snobbery, Post-WTTM, Sex Toys, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29069877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkscape/pseuds/larkscape
Summary: “You seemed busy,” said Otabek when the door latched behind Yuri. As excuses went, it was weak, but at least it had the distinction of being true.“Yeah, busy being bored to tears.” Yuri planted his hands on his hips and glared with beady-eyed accusation. “You think Iwantedto talk to sponsors for hours while Victor and the pig made cow eyes at each other? Fuck, no. If Yakov wasn’t standing behind me, I’d have chased you down right away.”Second-guessing himself, Otabek retreats to his hotel room during the banquet, but then Yuri follows him. It turns out they’ve both got the same thing in mind.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: Tell Me How to Break This Fever [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/821409
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Mouth to Mouth, Bones to Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I’m still not over these teenage edgelords. Fucking hell. RIP me. Still tagging for virginity since Yuri's _first_ first time was handjobs hours earlier, so this is like the Extended Director's Cut of his virginity loss. All band names are, to my knowledge, fictitious. Title from Jesca Hoop.

“What the hell, Otabek. You abandoned me.”

Otabek supposed he should have expected this. He’d left the banquet early, tired of being social, tired of watching the awkward sponsor-hobnob dance GPF gold medalist Yuri Plisetsky had been bullied into by his coach, tired of sipping champagne from tiny flutes and getting trapped in uncomfortable conversation.

Tired of second-guessing himself as he watched Yuri from across the room, wondering what exactly it meant that they’d traded frantic handjobs on the locker room floor earlier. He didn’t want to assume too much.

Better to just leave.

Except now Yuri was kicking down Otabek's hotel room door with fire in his eyes, and Otabek had only himself to blame. He shifted uncomfortably as Yuri shouldered his way into the room, feeling the heavy weight of the silicone plug he hadn't had a chance to hide except for  _ deeper. _ He’d been so lost in helpless flights of fancy — imagining Yuri’s hands wandering under the tablecloth at a post-competition banquet; Yuri pressed tight to Otabek's back as they rode the mountain roads outside Almaty on his bike; Yuri in that exhibition outfit, his trim muscles highlighted by the tease of that barely-a-shirt, pushing Otabek down into the sheets, burying him in hungry kisses, opening him fast and frantic and sliding inside — that he'd barely had the presence of mind to pull his track pants up and his t-shirt down while Yuri harangued him from the hallway.

“You seemed busy,” said Otabek when the door latched behind Yuri. As excuses went, it was weak, but at least it had the distinction of being true.

“Yeah, busy being bored to tears.” Yuri planted his hands on his hips and glared with beady-eyed accusation. “You think I  _ wanted _ to talk to sponsors for hours while Victor and the pig made cow eyes at each other? Fuck, no. If Yakov hadn’t been standing behind me, I’d have chased you down right away.”

That was an intoxicating thought: Yuri storming through the banquet hall, chasing after him like thunder chases lightning. Was Yuri as fascinated by Otabek as Otabek was by him?

Shifting his weight nudged the plug inside Otabek against a sensitive spot. He felt like he’d been jammed into an electrical socket. Jangling sensation buzzed up his spine to tighten his jaw and then back down again, pooling hot and intense just behind his balls, and he had to hold his breath and clench every muscle south of his navel for a long moment to avoid making an embarrassing sound. He hoped against hope that the hem of his t-shirt was hiding his erection.

“It was bad enough that we were late,” he managed to say when he could work his teeth apart. “I didn’t want to get you in more trouble with your coach.”

Yuri’s brow knitted. “So you just wandered off? And I’m not in trouble with my coach.”

“He was yelling at you.”

“Yakov always yells, that’s just how he is. You should know that. Weren't you in one of his training camps?”

“That was years ago,” said Otabek, clamping down on the need to fidget.

“Otabek.” Yuri dropped his arms and stepped closer. “You left. You were the only one making that shitshow bearable and you  _ left.” _ He leaned in, and Otabek’s breath caught. Everything about Yuri radiated intensity; his eyes, his mouth, even his hair looked ready to do battle. His gaze burned. “Friends aren’t supposed to abandon each other.”

“Sorry.”

There was a furrow between Yuri's brows. Otabek wanted to kiss it. He swayed forward helplessly and then shuddered as a firework lit off low in his belly.

Otabek had made a number of terrible decisions in his life.

One of the early ones: when he was nine, he’d asked his younger brother to bleach his hair for him, which resulted in a burned scalp and an embarrassing photo album on his aunt's shelf dedicated to the uneven, brassy orange outcome.

Later, and worse: when he was fourteen and training in Toronto, he’d decided to slip out late one night with Julio the hockey player, two years his senior and owner of the coolest motorcycle Otabek had ever seen. Half an hour into their joyride, they’d taken a turn too fast and managed to lay the bike, and themselves, down on the side of the highway. It left Otabek with a scar the size of his palm low on the side of his hip where his jeans had given out under the onslaught of gravel; his jumps had suffered for weeks after the fall, earning him well-deserved lectures from his coach about  _ focus _ and  _ responsibility. _

Now he needed to reorganize his ranking, because his decision to keep the plug in place when he’d heard Yuri in the hall took the gold for Worst Ever.

He couldn’t _think._ Even disregarding the flood of feelings born of having Yuri here, in his room, brilliant and scintillating and fierce, and oh, Otabek wanted _so much_ with him, things he couldn't even articulate _—_ even disregarding all that, this entire conversation was shaping up to be one long torture session. Every tiny move he made shifted the plug and sent shockwaves rippling along his nerves. It was one thing to lay in his hotel bed and jerk off, imagining that the toy in his ass was really Yuri’s cock filling him up, but it was another thing entirely to stand in front of Yuri, real flesh-and-blood non-fantasy Yuri, feeling the silicone still buried inside him and remembering exactly what he’d been imagining Yuri doing to him not even three minutes ago and trying desperately not to let any of it show on his face.

He had a feeling he was failing at that last part.

Otabek wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap between them, how to return to the ease of earlier. Sure, they’d had their hands down each others’ pants a few hours ago, but they weren’t touching anymore and the whole length of the evening separated then and now, and even without his current distraction Otabek wasn’t the greatest of conversationalists. He tended to either clam up or blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

The latter option was very dangerous at the moment, because his brain was empty but for a desperate loop of ‘please, Yuri, I need you to fuck me  _ right now.’ _ Which was— too much. He couldn't say that to Yuri, not so raw and needy. Not when this amorphous thing between them was so new.

“Otabek,” said Yuri firmly.

His gaze dipped to Yuri’s lips as they formed his name. So distracting, so red and tempting. So biteable.

Otabek remembered what those lips tasted like. The memory had soaked like wine into his own mouth, staining his lips, renewed every time he swallowed: Yuri, panting and desperate, kissing him feverishly, biting into his mouth while those graceful fingers curled around Otabek’s cock.

He wanted to taste him again. He wondered if he'd be allowed to do so.

Belatedly, he realized Yuri was waiting for a response. He settled for a noncommittal, “Hmm?” and hoped his flush wasn’t too obvious.

“I wanted to hang out with you.”

Oh,  _ Yuri. _ “You’re— you’re here now.”

“Yeah. And we’re done with the banquet…”

“Mmm.”

Yuri kept leaning closer, stepping forward, crowding into Otabek’s space. His hand came up to hover over Otabek’s chest and Otabek was as tuned and attentive to the proximity as iron filings to a magnet — ready,  _ so _ ready for contact. But Yuri’s hand refused to close the distance, like he was nervous to actually touch despite everything. Skittish.

He'd had no qualms about seducing Otabek in the lockers earlier, fearlessly grabbing him by the jacket and dragging him in. Yuri couldn't be nervous  _ now, _ could he?

“Are you… Do you…” Yuri trailed off, and it seemed he _ could _ be nervous.

Something soft and warm folded in Otabek's chest. “Yuri,” he murmured.

Then Yuri was surging up and kissing him, his lips warm and dry and a little clumsy and shockingly, wondrously sudden. Otabek clenched up around the plug with a gasp.  _ This _ was what he'd needed.

“…Otabek?”

Yuri‘s dress shirt wrinkled between Otabek’s fingers. Otabek wasn’t sure when he’d grabbed it. Rather than bother searching for words, he captured Yuri’s lips again, tugging him closer, pouring all his desperation into Yuri's mouth, and Yuri met him kiss for hungry kiss. Otabek wanted— he  _ wanted— _

When their tongues brushed, Yuri made a surprised ‘mmph!’ and fisted his hands in Otabek’s shirt. He tasted even better than Otabek remembered.

“Mmm.” Yuri pressed forward to slide his tongue along Otabek's again, then pulled back just a little, just enough to speak. “The whole time at the banquet, I wanted to be  _ here.” _

“Me, too.”

Yuri took another half-step in until their hips were flush, and Otabek noted with delight that Yuri was growing hard already. His own erection couldn't be missed, trapped between them as it was, but Yuri made a pleased noise and rubbed his hips over it, so obviously it wasn't unwelcome.

Then they were kissing again. Now that Yuri had closed the distance, Otabek couldn't keep his hands off him. Yuri's body felt like fire at every point they touched.

He caught Yuri around the waist and his hands nearly spanned the whole width of it; his thumbs brushed Yuri’s lowest ribs, his palms fit over Yuri’s hips, his fingers curled around to dig into Yuri’s back through the thin fabric of his shirt. When he tightened his grip, Yuri’s mouth opened to his with a gasp.

That was an invitation if Otabek had ever heard one. He pulled Yuri closer, kissed him deeper, and the moment his weight shifted he was reminded anew of just what was buried where. Tension traveled through his lower body in a wave, thigh to hip to ass and across to his other thigh, his muscles tightening and moving the plug where it held him open.

Then Yuri’s hand drifted down his back to his ass and squeezed.

Pleasure exploded through Otabek. He moaned into Yuri's mouth, loud, uncontrolled, as that warm hand worked into his flesh, jostling the plug and sending electricity all through him. Overwhelmed, he dropped his forehead to Yuri's shoulder.

Yuri stilled.

It took a moment for Otabek to be able to open his eyes again. When he lifted his head, Yuri was watching him with smug triumph in his green eyes. Otabek wanted to fix him in place like a butterfly to cardstock so he could study all his joins and seams, figure out the mechanism that made him work, discover precisely what gave him the idea that he could use his hands to make Otabek feel like this and then just  _ stop _ like he wasn't dissolving Otabek's mind with every second of stillness.

Well, two could play at that game. Otabek nudged his hips forward, pressing up against the bulge in Yuri's pants, and won himself a shocked little moan.

Yuri rocked into him, hips jerking, and retaliated by dragging him back in by the hair and kissing him messily. Then he lifted the hand on Otabek’s ass just enough to be able to slip his fingertips under the waistband, and paused there.

Otabek groaned and captured his wrist. He had no patience for teasing, not now, not wound up like he was. Would Yuri be okay with—? He sure hoped so, because his sense of reason was eroding fast as a rockslide into the ocean. When he spoke, his voice was full of gravel.

“Yuri. I, uh. I brought some toys with me.”

Yuri swallowed heavily and panted against his jaw. “Yeah?”

He guided Yuri’s hand down, under the soft fabric of his track pants, lower. Lower. Until Yuri’s fingers found the base of the plug and made all Otabek's nerve endings sing.

“Is that a—” breathed Yuri, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Mhmm.”

“Oh my god, Otabek, fuck.  _ This _ is what you were doing? You left so you could…” Yuri’s fingers brushed the base of the plug again, and the tiny movement shivered up Otabek’s spine. Not a bad decision to leave it in place, after all; no, that was the  _ best  _ decision, the greatest thing Otabek had ever done. Yuri looked like he'd been hit with a bat.

“Okay,” said Yuri, “yeah, I forgive you for leaving. Fuck. Can I…?”

“Yeah,” gasped Otabek, too eager. He couldn’t help the needy curve of his back, pushing his ass into Yuri’s warm hand. “Yes, anything, absolutely. I was thinking about you the whole time, anyway. It’ll be better with you here.”

Oh. That was— well, not  _ more _ than he’d intended to say; he would gladly admit to Yuri the depths of his affection and desire. But he’d hoped to make it sound cool instead of desperate.

“Holy shit,” whispered Yuri.

Maybe Yuri was into desperate. Otabek smothered himself in blond hair and clutched Yuri's waist to try to keep the earth from tilting as Yuri nudged the plug deeper.

Yuri pressed one edge firmly, purposeful, and the way it angled the plug inside him made Otabek see stars.

“Yuri, god,” he said, choked-off and breathless.

With cautious motions, Yuri felt around the base of the plug until he could get a grip, and then he eased it out just a bit, so that the wider part tugged at Otabek's rim from the inside. Otabek groaned, tangled into knots by the feeling. Yuri’s curious fingertips traced around the place where the silicone disappeared inside.

Then he shoved the plug all the way back in.

Otabek sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth, grinding his hips back as his body lit up with sparks, trying to get more of that incredible sensation. It didn't matter anymore how cool he was trying to be, because there was no way he could pretend to be any less desperate than he was. His arms squeezed around Yuri and his open mouth fitted itself over Yuri's shoulder without conscious thought, and he was inhaling Yuri’s hair but he didn’t  _ care, _ he just needed him to  _ keep doing that. _

Yuri maintained the pressure, rolling his fingers on the base of the plug so it moved inside him. Otabek was torn between arching back into it and thrusting his aching cock against the place where Yuri’s leg slotted between his own. It turned out he didn’t have to decide, because Yuri gave him both, grinding forward so their cocks rubbed together and pressing on the plug in just the right way so that it rolled over his prostate and made him squirm.

Otabek was falling to pieces. He was going to shatter in Yuri’s hands like porcelain, right here in the entry to his hotel room. He moaned helplessly and rutted against Yuri’s hip.

"Fuck,” said Yuri, sounding as overwhelmed as Otabek felt. “Otabek.”

Actual words were beyond him; he could only whine in reply. Yuri grabbed at him, one hand tight on the back of his neck and the other biting into his ass to hold the plug in as deep as it would go, and writhed against him in this incredible full-body motion. Their lips slotted together and it felt like Yuri was trying to devour him, trying to drink him dry.

Then Yuri pulled back.

Otabek made a bereft noise. His hands wouldn’t let go of Yuri’s shirt.

“I want to see it,” breathed Yuri, “let me see it.”

And he pushed Otabek toward the bed.

Otabek reeled, trying to piece together the separate parts of that sentence and too pleasure-addled to manage it. “You want…”

“The— the toy. I want to see.”

Yuri followed him to the bedside. His fingers slithered into Otabek’s waistband again, and this time they were working to pull it down. Otabek tried to assist, but everything felt both too fast and too slow, like time wasn’t tracking right; one moment Yuri had only barely started stripping him, syrupy slow, and the next they were both more than half naked with Yuri’s arms tight around him and Yuri's mouth on his all hot and spit-slick and insistent. Their lips pressed, moved, receded and came together again in waves that threatened to drown him. Their cocks dragged against each other and Otabek lost all the air in his lungs.

That was just fine. He didn’t need air if Yuri kept kissing him like that.

Yuri’s naked skin radiated heat. Otabek couldn’t get enough of it, running his hands up his spine, gripping his shoulders, folding him into his arms to feel that incredible warmth all the way down his body, shoving Yuri's pants the rest of the way down his thighs and then pulling him in by the waist so they could touch each other everywhere.

As if they were magnetized to it, Yuri’s fingers found the plug again. Otabek almost bit his tongue in the surge of pleasure.

“Bed,” growled Yuri, and grabbed him by the hips.

Otabek toppled, dragging Yuri with him. They made clumsy progress up the mattress, hampered by the way Otabek kept gasping with every move and by the way Yuri refused to stop kissing him — not that Otabek would have let him anyway; he was pretty certain that without Yuri’s lips on his own he would burst into flame and ash — but finally their arrangement seemed to please Yuri, because with a last kiss he rolled them sideways, then slipped his mouth to Otabek’s neck and twisted around to pin him facedown on the blankets.

Fuck, Yuri was so  _ warm. _ Heavy. Perfect. Holding him down and keeping him bound to his own body with one searing hand on the back of his neck, mouthing down his shoulder, sliding a knee in to nudge his legs apart. Otabek clenched his hands in the bedspread and tried to hang on.

Yuri’s mouth traveled down Otabek's spine to the dip at his low back and paused there to lick away the last of his sanity. Then Yuri set teeth to the flesh and bit — gently, but enough, more than enough, a delicious sharp pressure that shot all the way through Otabek like lightning and made him thrash.

“Ah—” he cried, voice breaking. “Yuri—”

The hand at the back of his neck disappeared as Yuri sat up, but that was okay because it showed up again on his ass, spreading him open to show off the base of the plug. He wrestled one knee up and out so Yuri could have a better view.

“Oh my god,” whispered Yuri, quiet, nearly reverent. “That is so fucking hot.”

Otabek bit down on a mouthful of blanket and whined.

Even knowing it was coming, the touch of fingers near his hole made him shiver uncontrollably. Yuri’s fingers circled the flared edge of the plug and the skin around it lightly, too light, in teasing brushes that left Otabek gasping. Then Yuri worked his fingertips under the base to touch the slick place where Otabek was stretched around the silicone, and all thought fled.

In tiny increments, Yuri worked the plug out of him. The drag though his hole lit Otabek up and tore him down, a demolition that felt like it went on forever though probably only a centimeter of silicone had left him; he could feel the wide point still inside, still pressing against his walls, and it was merely the neck at the base that was dismantling him so thoroughly. He could live forever in this moment, with Yuri’s touch and rumpled sheets and warm skin and his every nerve sending confused dynamite bursts to his brain. Just when that thick part of the plug was tugging at him from inside, Yuri twisted it, and that was— wow, Otabek had no defenses against that, the friction going in a completely unexpected direction. His breath stuttered out of him in broken moans,  _ ah ahh—, _ as the widest part turned and twisted and pulled through his rim.

Then it stopped. Yuri's fingers held it still right at the peak of the stretch, wedging him open. Otabek’s hips jerked as he clenched around it.

“Oh, it's… it's _ big.” _ Yuri's voice sounded strangled. “No wonder you were losing your mind.”

The plug wasn't  _ that _ big, but this one was Otabek's favorite for a reason. Something about the shape, the thick rounded tip, the narrower point below and the wide bulb near the base, never failed to set him off. He'd spent too long on that website trying to decide between toys, but as soon as he realized that the blue option for this one was the exact same shade of navy as his NSF jacket, his finger hit the Add to Cart button faster than he could think. Which was a little embarrassing, maybe, but the first time he tried the thing he nailed his prostate on the very first shot and he knew that, impulsive or not, he'd made the right choice.

And now Yuri was taking him to pieces with it. All Otabek’s long-held fantasies plus a number of brand new ones were coming true in spectacular fashion.

Yuri’s grip shifted slightly and Otabek’s hole clamped around the silicone in helpless spasms. He found himself biting down on the blankets once more while every muscle in his body tightened. He wanted to shove his ass back onto the plug, make Yuri bury it back inside him and then do that twisting thing again and again, and yet he couldn't bring himself to move, because what if Yuri stopped touching him?

With a broken noise, Yuri folded over. His forehead pressed into Otabek’s back as he rutted against his leg and whispered, “Fuck,  _ fuck.” _

“Yuri? What’s…?”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. The fingers on the plug had disappeared, but Yuri was still touching him — was touching him even more now, pressed close all along his side and clutching his waist — so that was okay. Otabek twisted his hips, trying to get the plug to seat deeper again while his hands were still clenched in the blankets by his head. Trying to get closer to Yuri, even as Yuri’s cock ground into the back of his leg.

“I’m— Otabek, I’m going to— you have no idea what you look like,  _ fuck. _ No, not _ yet, _ I don’t want to—”

Oh god.  _ Otabek _ wanted that, wanted Yuri to come right now, just from this. All over him. Make him messy. “Why not?” he asked, and he’d thought his voice sounded thin and desperate before but it was nothing compared to the sound that came out of him now.

“I don’t—” said Yuri, then groaned and pulled his hips away. “I don’t want this to be over yet.”

“Me neither, but— Yuri.” Otabek lifted his head from the bed just enough to fix Yuri with an impatient look. “Are you really trying to tell me that you won’t be able to get it up again?”

_ “Ah.” _ That one syllable held an ocean of stunned want. Apparently Yuri hadn’t even considered that it might be an option — but really, they were teenage boys, and Otabek was trying not to think about it too hard lest he lose his mind completely but he knew that this was Yuri's first time. Multiple rounds were basically inevitable. It was a wonder neither of them had come already.

“Yuri?” he prompted after a moment.

“I— no. No, that part won’t be a problem.” Yuri’s voice was tight, and his cock rubbed against Otabek again as if to emphasize the point.

“Then come.  _ Please.” _ Otabek hesitated for a brief moment — could he say the rest of it? Would Yuri be willing to oblige him or would he recoil? — but admitted quietly, “I want you to. On me.”

“Oh,  _ fuck.” _

Definitely obliging. God, now that the idea was in Otabek's head, it was all he could think about. He _ needed _ it, needed Yuri to paint him with his come. He wanted to run his fingers through the mess, wanted to taste it. Wanted Yuri to kiss him with the flavor still on his tongue.

Yuri bucked, a wild motion that had his knee digging into Otabek’s as their legs tangled and locked together, and his hips pushed against Otabek’s ass, bumping the plug again. Otabek hissed with pleasure. The silicone began to slip as he clenched around the width of it, and he could feel which direction it was sliding and that was the  _ wrong _ direction; he needed it  _ in, _ not out. Before he was even aware of starting the motion, he’d reached his hand down and shoved the thing back inside.

He arched, gasping, as it sank home again.  _ Fuck, _ that felt good. A thousand times better, even, with Yuri clinging to him. Yuri made a choking sound as he drove his cock against the back of Otabek’s leg, his fingers biting into Otabek’s sides, tense with impending orgasm. His hips worked in sharp thrusts that Otabek couldn’t wait to feel stutter and slip when he came.

“Yuri.  _ Yuri. _ Please, now, I want—”

He twisted his head around to seek Yuri's mouth, but those tempting lips were too far to reach, smearing damply over the back of his shoulder as Yuri whined against his skin, so he shoved his own knuckles between his teeth instead. He needed  _ something _ to bite down on or he would go insane.

A thin, hitching sound escaped from between Yuri's lips as he bucked, and then Otabek felt the liquid heat of Yuri's come striping high across the back of his thigh, right under the crease of his ass, tantalizingly close to the plug, and oh, fuck, he was lost and gone as soon as it landed. Every muscle in his body slammed into tension; he twisted and arched under Yuri's weight as his orgasm stuck him like lightning, electrifying and merciless and completely overwhelming. Stretched-out whimpers strained in the back of his throat as his hips jerked helplessly and his hole spasmed around the plug and his cock spurted his release into the blanket beneath him.

“Holy shit,” whispered Yuri as Otabek rode out the shockwaves. “Otabek.”

“Ah—  _ mmm.” _

Gradually his body slackened, until he felt liquid and formless all over. He muffled a satisfied moan in the blankets.

Yuri was going to be the death of him. Already this encounter was nearly more than Otabek could stand, and he’d promised them both more.  _ More. _ As if he wasn’t already riding high on a crest of bliss simply from lying here under Yuri, pressed skin to sweaty, come-smeared skin as their breathing slowed.

With a small contented noise, Yuri rolled his cheek on Otabek’s shoulder, nuzzling lazily, then stroked over his ribs with one hand. Otabek was so blissed out that he didn’t even mind the cooling wetness of his own come puddled beneath him; no, he simply luxuriated in Yuri's attention, stretching under his touch and gradually settling deeper into the mattress.

Yuri took the opportunity to slip his hand around Otabek’s chest and brush his fingertips across the nearest nipple, and Otabek sucked in a breath as the touch shot tingles through him so pleasurable they almost felt like pain. Too soon, too much on his overloaded nerves, a jagged sort of ecstasy, but he couldn’t fathom wanting Yuri to stop.

“Good?” asked Yuri smugly, fingers coming back to circle around the hardening nipple.

_ “Yuri.” _

Otabek squirmed, pressing his chest into the touch, then turned his head to seek out a kiss. Yuri's mouth took a path over his shoulder and up to his cheek, leaving nips and sucking kisses in its wake, then met up with his lips and stole all his breath again.

_ “So _ good,” murmured Otabek against Yuri's mouth. He could feel Yuri's cock starting to plump up again and he rocked into it, clenching tight when the movement shifted the plug inside him. “And— and not over, either.”

_ “Fuck. _ Otabek. I want— I wanna fuck you, can I fuck you—”

_ “Yuri.” _

“Can I?”

“Yes.  _ Yes.” _

Yuri groaned in response, licking into Otabek’s mouth as his hips started to move again, small motions nudging against Otabek’s ass. The hand not toying with Otabek’s nipple wormed up his side, still mostly trapped under their bodies, until it reached Otabek’s shoulder and squeezed.

“How should we…” said Yuri, his voice halfway to a moan. His hips still hadn’t stopped and he was well on his way to full hardness again.

Otabek squirmed and arched under Yuri’s weight, twisting to deepen their kiss. “How do you want to?” he asked after a long moment, his lips still touching Yuri’s, his pulse speeding, his cock recovering from its spent state to start hardening again. Yuri’s skin was hot and sweaty and it felt amazing pressed all along his back and side.

‘“I— fuck, I don’t even know, Otabek, I just want you,” whispered Yuri harshly, panting. “I want to do  _ everything.” _

“We will. Like this?” Otabek pressed his hips back into Yuri’s.

“Mmh, yeah.” Yuri nipped his lower lip. “Yes. However you want.”

“Yuri,” said Otabek, low, grinding back, making the plug press and rub over the places inside that shot electric frissions of pleasure along his nerves, “I’ve had this in for at least an hour now, thinking about you. I want you inside me in whatever way I can get.”

With a groan, Yuri dragged himself further over Otabek’s body, and the sudden change drove the plug deeper and Otabek higher right along with it.

_ “Otabek.” _

“Yuri,” gasped Otabek. “Oh god. I want— want you to fuck me.”

“Jesus.” Yuri panted harshly into Otabek’s shoulder for a moment, then reached down and rubbed his thumb over the base of the plug, pushing down on one edge. The flesh gave easily, loose, relaxed. “What do I— I've never done this before.”

Otabek shuddered. “I know. I… god, Yuri, just touch me.”

In reply, Yuri tightened his grasp on the plug, pulled,  _ twisted, _ and shoved it back home. Otabek’s voice cracked on a moan until all he could do was gasp in the tiny spaces between waves of pleasure. He was right on the border of too much, the sensation almost too powerful, but he never wanted it to stop.

“You like that? Fuck, you  _ do.” _

All Otabek could manage was a throaty moan of Yuri’s name and a whispered, “Again. Please.” Yuri obliged and Otabek buried his face in the pillow, writhing.

Then Yuri pulled on the plug more firmly. Otabek groaned at the slow, lingering pleasure as it dragged over and out of his rim, out to the widest point of the plug and then beyond, until it slid free completely and left him loose and empty. Yuri let it drop to the mattress by Otabek’s hip.

Soft fingertips brushed over his hole and Otabek whimpered.

“Where’s the lube?” asked Yuri, his voice quiet.

Otabek flopped one arm out to the side, questing blindly until he found the bottle under the other pillow and handed it back. There was a quiet click of the cap opening, and then Yuri’s fingers were back, cool and wet as they circled around his hole again, a little unsure.

_ His first, _ Otabek thought unsteadily.  _ He’s never done this with anyone else. I get to be here with him while he explores, while he figures out what he likes. Me. He chose  _ me _ for this. _

Slowly, one fingertip pushed inside.

“Oh, oh wow, you’re so hot inside.” Yuri was breathless, needy-sounding. A second finger circled Otabek’s rim and slid in, slow and inexorable. “Jesus  _ fuck, _ Otabek, I’m gonna— you’re so  _ tight. _ God. Can I…?”

Otabek tried to speak, but Yuri’s fingers crooked just right and it turned into a helpless moan. He tried again, fighting to form consonants as Yuri’s fingers kept rubbing inside him, seeking. “What— whatever you want. Yes. Please don’t stop.”

As Yuri twisted his wrist, his long fingers worked deeper, until they bumped over Otabek’s prostate.

With a needy whine, Otabek bucked his hips. “There,  _ there, _ right there, oh  _ fuck.” _

“Did I find it?”

_ “Yeah.” _

“God, look at you. Otabek. You are— you are incredible, you’re so hot, holy fuck. I want—” All the while, his fingers kept rubbing over and around Otabek’s prostate, merciless, and Otabek writhed as his whole body shook, overwhelmed by the flood of sensation washing through him. Every press against that spot inside him made his nerves jangle, made all the pleasure centers in his brain light up and his nerves sing, made his toes curl, made his balls tighten and his cock drip precome into the messy sheets.

_ “Yuri,” _ he whined. “Please.”

“Going to fuck you now,” groaned Yuri, breathless, his body hot and heavy over Otabek’s. Otabek nodded and drew his shaking legs under himself, pushing up onto his knees.

“Want you, Yuri,” he breathed, his face smushed into the pillow and his ass up with Yuri’s fingers still working inside him, eroding his mind until all that spilled from his mouth was endless need. “I’ve been thinking about this so much, for so long, please, Yuri, let me have you, let me be your first.”

“Otabek, fuck—”

“I want you so much, need you— want to hear the noises you make when you sink inside someone for the first time, want to— want to kiss you when you’re inside me, Yuri, do it, fuck me—”

“Oh my  _ god, _ Otabek.” Yuri’s fingers shoved deep, up to the knuckles, and Otabek hissed his pleasure as Yuri rearranged himself further, lining up behind him with his knees just inside Otabek’s, spreading their legs wide. His hand stilled — too many things to keep track of, but Otabek wasn’t complaining, because there was another slick noise that must mean Yuri was spreading lube on his cock, and then those long fingers withdrew as a blunt pressure nudged at Otabek’s hole.

“Yes,  _ yes,” _ chanted Otabek.

Yuri pushed inside.

Otabek gave easily for him, opening around his cock with a delirious moan; god, Yuri was  _ inside him, _ finally. Yuri shuddered, groaning as he slid home, and the sound was like music to Otabek’s ears.  _ His first. He’s never felt this before. And he’s with  _ me.

“Oh— Otabek,” breathed Yuri, curling over him to brace his forehead on Otabek’s back.  _ “Fuck. _ That feels so good.”

“Yeah,” replied Otabek, breathy. He squeezed around Yuri’s length; Yuri gasped and shoved in harder, his fingers digging into Otabek’s hips, then did it again, again, whining through his teeth as he pounded in. “Yes,” panted Otabek, “god,  _ Yuri.” _

He'd ascribed Yuri too much control. Fantasy Yuri had touched him teasingly, drawing it out. In reality, Yuri was wild, grabby and frantic with need even with one orgasm already under his belt, and Otabek was no better. Yuri caught him by the hips and slammed into him, ruthless in pursuit of his own pleasure, and Otabek was all too happy to be used. Let Yuri find his bliss in Otabek’s body, let him go as fast or as slow as his need commanded; Otabek only wanted to feel it all. And Yuri was certainly making sure he felt it. There was no finesse to his motion, only demand, and Otabek rolled his hips back into Yuri’s at the same frenetic pace.

Ragged breathing heated Otabek’s skin as Yuri’s face shoved into his shoulder blade, one arm coming up to brace on his elbow. Otabek fumbled for that hand and drew it to his lips, mouthing messily over the knuckles as Yuri’s thrusts rocked his whole body.

“Yuri,” he moaned. “Do you… do you like it?”

“What— what kind of— question is that?” asked Yuri waspishly between heavy breaths.  _ “Fuck, _ Otabek, you— you feel,  _ aah, _ amazing. Holy shit. God. Could do this—  _ hnng— _ forever. Do, um. Do you? Like it?”

_ “Yes, _ god yes.” Otabek drew two of Yuri’s fingers into his mouth and sucked on them just to hear Yuri’s gasp, remembering that moment on the ice when he’d pulled Yuri’s glove off with his teeth. God, he’d  _ never _ forget that moment. This is what he’d wanted then and ever since: Yuri’s fingers in his mouth while Yuri fucked him with fire burning in his eyes. Otabek turned his head enough to catch Yuri’s gaze over his shoulder and sucked again, messy and uncoordinated as their hips slammed together.

“Oh fuck,  _ Otabek.” _

“Yuri—” Otabek spoke around Yuri’s knuckles; he didn’t know where the sentence was going but Yuri’s cock was pounding into his hole and his entire back was overheated and sweaty under Yuri’s chest and he just had to say his name, needed it down to his blood and his marrow. Needed to have Yuri’s fingers in his mouth and Yuri’s name on his lips.

Yuri lifted his head to look at him, his pace slowing slightly as he pulled his fingers free to grasp Otabek’s jaw. “We're _ fucking; _ call me Yura.” His smile was wild, feral; Otabek shuddered under its force.

“Yura,” he whispered, overwhelmed, tasting the shape of the diminutive, fitting it on his tongue and finding that it belonged there. Yuri moaned, so he did it again. “Yura.”

“Otabek—”

“Beka,” corrected Otabek.

“Beka,” repeated Yuri, looking a little stunned.

“Yura,” said Otabek again, for the vast pleasure of it and to see the fierce, pleased look in Yuri’s eyes. “Fuck me, Yura.”

Yuri obviously intended to, but he leaned forward first and Otabek craned his neck to meet him in a heated kiss, all lips and tongue and desperation. Otabek caught Yuri’s lower lip between his teeth, sucked, let Yuri lick his way inside and tasted him deep in return. He twisted his shoulders to get a better angle, and then Yuri was moving, too, and Otabek’s knee was suddenly in the way, half-turned to face each other as they were.

“Beka?”

A shudder ran through Otabek at that, at how readily, how happily Yuri took to the intimacy; he gently guided Yuri back until they separated so he could roll over and cradle Yuri between his thighs, and then they were staring at each other, awestruck. Yuri's cock pressed against the crease of Otabek's thigh, Otabek's knees gripped Yuri's waist, and their hands met and clasped in the rumpled bedding.

“Kiss me, Yura.” It felt monumental to be able to say that, to ask for a kiss from Yuri and know it would be granted.

Yuri smiled bright and triumphant and leaned forward to comply, his soft mouth at odds with his harsh breathing. The kiss lasted long moments as Yuri’s slick cock rubbed next to Otabek’s own, but the motion of their mouths was momentarily more important than having Yuri inside him again. Otabek wove one hand into Yuri’s hair and pulled him close as the kiss got ever hungrier.

“Oh, hell,” gasped Yuri suddenly. “Should we be using a condom?”

“Oh.” Otabek had, in the rush of all his fantasies coming true, completely forgotten. “I mean… we could? But you know how often they test us; I’m negative for everything, and if this is your first…”

“Don’t look so smug about that,” scolded Yuri fondly, failing to suppress a grin.

“Yura… you chose  _ me. _ I’ll be smug forever.” Yuri snorted and thumped Otabek's chest lightly. Otabek looked up at him, a tiny smile on his face. “But what I mean to say is that we don’t need a condom unless you want one.”

“I— no, let’s not. I like, um.” Yuri went delightfully red, frowning through his blush. “I like feeling you. Like this.”

“Me, too.”

Otabek arched under him, pressing closer, running both hands up from Yuri’s waist to his shoulders and rolling their hips together. Yuri, reminded of the state of his cock, slotted his knees under Otabek’s raised thighs to tilt his hips up and lined himself up again.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” replied Otabek, equally quiet. Reverent.

Yuri guided himself back inside, slower this time, less frantic, though he still made an involuntary noise of pleasure as Otabek’s body swallowed him to the base. Otabek reached up and cupped Yuri’s jaw, and Yuri turned into it, pressing a kiss to his palm. Otabek tugged him down for a proper kiss, fitting his mouth to Yuri’s as he hitched his legs high around Yuri’s waist, then drove him deeper with his heels.

_ “Oh,” _ moaned Yuri into Otabek’s mouth, grinding his cock in deep.

“I want you to come inside me,” said Otabek seriously, holding Yuri’s gaze, and had the pleasure of seeing Yuri’s eyes blow wide and feeling Yuri’s cock throb inside him with want. He pulled with his legs again, forcing Yuri deeper, and then Yuri took over, his thrusts rapidly gaining speed until he was slamming into Otabek with wild abandon, his eyes squeezed shut in the face of overwhelming sensation.

“Fuck, fuck, Beka—”

Otabek felt something vast and unnameable rising in him. Yuri was  _ here, _ Yuri had sought him out and wanted to kiss him and touch him and fuck him, Yuri was  _ inside _ him when he hadn’t been inside anyone, ever, and Otabek was the one making his face light up like that, making him glow with pleasure. Yuri was all pale skin and sweat and heated breath, a lush red mouth panting above him, blond hair disarrayed in a vibrant halo that stuck to his skin. A young god in Otabek’s bed doing unholy things to their bodies. It didn’t matter that Yuri’s technique was unpracticed; Otabek flexed and arched until the angle hit his prostate, then whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, and clenched his arms around Yuri’s back to pull him closer. His cock throbbed for attention, but he ignored it; he wanted to focus on the breath-stealing sensation of Yuri moving inside him. He couldn’t get enough touch. He wanted Yuri surrounding him always.

Yuri collapsed over him, both arms around Otabek’s shoulders, gripping him with desperation equal to Otabek’s own. He mumbled something incomprehensible and mostly consonants into Otabek’s jaw, then kissed him there; Otabek turned to meet Yuri’s mouth. The kiss was messy, open-mouthed and jolting with the motion of their bodies, but Otabek liked it that way. Every panting breath was proof that Yuri wanted him, proof that he could bring Yuri this much pleasure, and it gave Otabek something delicious and distracting to do with his mouth so he didn’t start voicing the chant of ‘fuck me fuck me fuck me’ repeating in his mind.

On second thought…

“Fuck, Yura, fuck me, yes,” he moaned around Yuri’s tongue, and was rewarded with a choked groan. Yuri slammed his cock into him even harder, faster, strong and relentless and god, so fucking good; Otabek angled himself so it hit just right and moaned unrestrainedly when the next pounding stroke made stars dance behind his eyelids.

“Beka—  _ ah, _ god, so—  _ fucking good—” _

“Don’t stop, fuck, Yura—”

With a strangled cry, Yuri slammed in and started to come, thrusts stuttering. Otabek grabbed his own cock and jerked it harshly, desperate to follow Yuri over that cliff edge. He whined through clenched teeth, grinding onto Yuri’s pulsing cock, feeling the tension coil in his gut as his balls tightened, as his cock dribbled precome over his hand, as his knuckles dragged over Yuri’s abs with every stroke.

Then it happened and it was like a landmine went off under his feet — ringing in his ears, vision whiting out, the whole world broken into unrecognizable, jagged-edged pieces.

When his hearing returned, when he could pay attention to anything beyond the raining debris of his own pleasure, the first thing he heard was Yuri’s harsh breathing. The room came slowly back into focus as Yuri slumped over him, panting. Otabek petted slowly up and down his back.

“Good?” he asked quietly.

“No, it was terrible— what the fuck, Beka, of course it was good. It was phenomenal. God, I don’t think I’ve  _ ever _ felt anything that amazing.”

Otabek smiled into Yuri’s hair. “I’m glad. I’m… really glad. That was incredible.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They lay together for a while, letting their breathing slow. Then Otabek nosed at Yuri’s cheek until he turned enough for a kiss, tilting his hips at the same time so Yuri’s softened cock slipped free and feeling the drip of Yuri’s come leaving his hole. They were covered in his own come, too, smeared between their bodies.

“Oh,” said Yuri between slow, dragging kisses, his voice quiet and a little surprised like the stickiness between them came as a shock. “We're, uh, really messy.”

“There's washcloths in the bathroom if you want.”

“No, I can't move.”

“Good.”

Yuri made a questioning noise.

“I don't want you to go yet,” said Otabek, soft. He didn't mind making himself vulnerable if it meant Yuri stayed pillowed on his chest. Spread over him like this, Yuri was a supernova, an explosion of star stuff from his blond hair to his bruised feet, violence and beauty and wonder shrunk into an impossible human form and incandescent in the aftermath. Otabek felt pinned under the weight of galaxies when Yuri smiled dazedly at him and lowered his cheek back to Otabek's sternum.

“You are— how are you even a real person?” Yuri’s lips brushed Otabek's skin as he spoke. “How can you be so cool and so cheesy at the same time? You’re like a giant teddy bear in a leather jacket. It's ridiculous.”

Otabek didn't have an answer. He hadn’t been aiming for cheese, he’d been aiming for honesty, but if the net effect was that Yuri stayed put then he'd count it as a success. They lay there while their breathing synchronized, Otabek's hands running through Yuri's hair and Yuri planting idle kisses on Otabek’s chest.

Too soon, Yuri stirred. (Anything would be too soon.  _ Next month _ would be too soon. Otabek wanted to lay trapped beneath Yuri’s indolent weight for the rest of his life.)

“I can’t believe I just— with a guy who’s friends with  _ JJ. _ What is my life coming to?” Yuri sounded amused, not annoyed, but that didn’t mean anything to the sudden knot of worry trying to form in Otabek’s chest. Was Yuri having second thoughts? Did he regret it now? No, no, he couldn’t—

Otabek had to set the record straight.

“When did I say he and I were friends? I said we were rinkmates, which is not the same thing.” Absolutely true; when JJ had stolen Otabek’s Sennheisers in some misguided attempt at a prank during Otabek’s first week in Toronto, he’d bombed any chance at real friendship they may have had. Those headphones were a parting gift from Otabek’s  _ mother. _

“You like his taste in music!” protested Yuri. “You said he knows a lot of good bands!”

“Yes, he knows them. Personally. He introduced me to the guys from Plurgid and for that I owe him a debt of gratitude. And I mean, I  _ do _ like his taste in music, though he listens to too much bad punk — but I wouldn’t call us friends.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Yuri heaved an exaggerated sigh and dropped his cheek back to Otabek’s chest. “I thought I was going to have to endure you fanboying that asshole.”

“You thought…” Otabek inhaled slowly, through his nose, trying to calm his galloping heart. “You would put up with JJ for me?”

“Like that’s news? Beka, you’re—” Yuri was still blushing, almost as bright as Otabek was sure he himself was, and he blew out a flustered breath as he hid his heated face in Otabek’s neck. “You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met. Of course I would.”

Otabek was speechless. He tightened his arms around Yuri and held on.

Yuri was so much more than he could ever deserve.

“You don’t like punk?” asked Yuri after a while, lifting up just enough to look at him.

“Depends on the type. The stuff JJ listens to I only like in small doses. I really like— do you know Vanity Plates?”

“Beka. I fucking love Vanity Plates.”

“I met them once, when I was training in Colorado. Risa let me touch her bass.”

“You lucky  _ bastard.” _ Yuri punched him lightly in the arm. “I want you to introduce me to all these cool people you know. Okay, so what other music do you like?”

“Lots of things. I’ve been into post-rock lately. Would you like me to play something for you?”

“Post-rock? That sounds badass. Sure, play me your music.”

Yuri looked eager. He was likely anticipating something harsh and dangerous-sounding. Otabek considered the Smeared Design Schematics album he’d been looping for the past week: sparse, minimalist drum arrangements, a sprinkling of piano, guitar chords stripped down to bare, floating tones, the sounds building and falling and ramping oh-so-gradually to a crescendo like a slow-motion tidal wave over eight and a half minutes. Oceans away from the frenzy of Welcome to the Madness.

“It’s probably not what you’re imagining,” he said, though he knew he’d indulge Yuri’s curiosity anyway. “I’ll have to get up and find my phone.”

He shifted halfheartedly, not ready to leave Yuri's arms.

“If you tell me I won’t like it, I’ll just like it harder.” But instead of allowing him to move, Yuri hugged him tighter and settled in. “I still don’t want to get up, though. We can do it later.”

Otabek wouldn’t argue with that. They lay there for a while, Yuri an idle Adonis sprawled on Otabek’s chest with his hair like sunlight on water, with his fierce soldier’s eyes, with his soft skin and toned back warm under Otabek’s hands. Otabek couldn't seem to stop laying kisses on the crown of Yuri's head. His lips had found their home and wanted only to return to it again and again. A vision popped into his head: he'd have to be careful of chapstick, because Yuri's hair would stick to any he might wear and he couldn't imagine  _ not _ kissing Yuri's hair at every opportunity from now until forever.

“…No, you know what,” said Yuri at length, lifting up, “I need  _ my _ phone.”

“Why?” asked Otabek.

“I need to show you pictures of Potya. We can't be— whatever this is until you've seen pics of my cat.”

Otabek saw the moment Yuri realized just what an ultimatum he'd thrown down: green eyes widened with gathering panic, darting over Otabek’s face. Otabek didn’t mention that he’d been following Yuri’s instagram for several years and had already seen plenty of pictures of Potya, he just leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to Yuri's mouth.

“Show me your cat, Yura.”

Yuri sounded a little breathless as he murmured, “Yeah,” but he looked more settled as they both clambered off the bed to hunt for phones.

When they were sprawled out again, propped up on the headboard with their shoulders slumped together, Yuri pulled up his instagram and narrated every single photo of Potya from the last month, one after another. “This was when she stole Lilia’s hair clip; see it in the corner? She chewed it to pieces and I had to replace the thing. Damn, that hag has expensive taste in hair clips. Oh, and that’s Potya's favorite spot to nap; gets the best sunlight in the afternoon.”

Otabek showed Yuri his own cat pictures in return. He had a Himalayan mix, a little smaller than Yuri's Potya but almost identical in coloration, whom he’d named Oberon after Shakespeare’s king of the fairies — because Otabek was subtle about his crush, but he wasn’t  _ that _ subtle.

Upon seeing Oberon’s fluffy cheeks, Yuri declared, “It's official. We're boyfriends now.”

Swallowing proved difficult with his heart lodged in his throat.  _ Boyfriends. _ Otabek exhaled around the pounding, as slow and measured as he could manage.

“Is that what we are?”

“Yes?” Yuri only looked unsure for a brief moment. “Yes. Boyfriends. We have matching cats; it’s the only reasonable choice.”

Otabek was— he was made of stars, glowing and swollen with joy. He dropped his phone to the bed and brushed Yuri’s hair back, then drew him in for a kiss.

“I’d like that,” he whispered against Yuri's lips.

The kiss grew rapidly more heated as Yuri’s hands wandered and Otabek indulged his other fantasies, the ones involving putting his mouth all over Yuri’s neck and chest and leaving love bites on that pale skin, sucking his nipples to reddened hardness, licking each line of muscle on his stomach. And then Otabek was on his back again with Yuri’s body blanketing him, Yuri’s mouth sliding down his neck, Yuri’s leg pressing between his own…

Otabek was the luckiest guy in the universe.

Later, when their breathing had slowed again, when they’d piled the pillows against the headboard and settled in beneath the bedspread, Otabek hunted through Spotify for something Yuri (his boyfriend, his  _ boyfriend, _ he could hardly believe it) might appreciate. If Yellow/Then Green? Spry? ANCOA? Yuri had liked the music at El Poblenou; maybe he should go old-school glam rock and put on Hom’s second album.

“Hey, Beka,” said Yuri, tapping something on his own phone. The speaker began pumping out an echoey synth bassline. “How do you feel about vaporwave?”

Otabek nodded to the familiar melody. “Is this Tracking Adjustment?”

_ “Damn, _ you’re good.”

Otabek just hummed, smiled, and pulled Yuri closer.


End file.
